


We Do the Best We Can

by Isilien_Elenihin



Series: Smith and Tyler [1]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Pete's World Torchwood, Smith and Tyler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:05:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isilien_Elenihin/pseuds/Isilien_Elenihin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose and her Doctor make a life together after they're left on Bad Wolf Bay for a second time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize belongs to me! Boy wouldn't that be nice if it did!

They were silent during the ride back to London from Darlig Ulf Stranden. Well, Rose and the Doctor were silent. Jackie babbled at Pete, who drove, and Tony, who was strapped safely in his car seat. Although she glanced back frequently at her daughter and the Doctor she didn't speak to them. It was a small mercy for which he was immensely grateful, and one that was distinctly out of character. She hadn't slapped him since their first–no, second meeting, but his relationship with Jackie Tyler, while friendly, was still contentious. Had time with Pete and Tony mellowed her, or had she noticed the tension between him and Rose after the TARDIS vanished?

Despite the kiss–the kiss that proved, at least to the other Doctor, that she had picked his part-human self–Rose said little to him as they had waited for Pete to arrive. Jackie got rooms at a local hotel, a tiny place, and nearly empty. Even driving flat out it would take Pete a little over a day to reach them. Jackie handed him the key, jerked her head at Rose, and then went to her own room. The Doctor stood in the hallway for a moment, staring at the plastic keycard, before he opened the door. The room was neat, but small. Two twin-sized beds took up most of the floor space. A short night table divided them, and on the wall opposite the door a picture window looked out over rocky crags and windswept beaches. He realized as he crossed the room to stand by the window that he was afraid of being alone with Rose, but he was saved from the awkward silence when she sat down on the bed and promptly fell asleep. She hadn't even taken off her shoes. She must have been exhausted. That day was an emotional rollercoaster of finding him, almost losing him, almost being unmade, saving the world, and ending up right back where she had started–on the other side of the wall. He crouched and unlaced her shoes, pulling them off gently, trying his best not to wake her. He went to the other bed, pulled off the duvet, and spread it over her prone figure. She looked so much younger when she was asleep, not weighed down by cares and heartache. He resisted the urge to brush her hair back from her face. When he first saw her, when Donna nodded over his shoulder and he turned, when a wide grin split Rose's face, he had imagined that she was the same, that she was still his Rose Tyler. When he looked at her asleep on the hotel bed he saw almost a stranger. He snorted softly in derision of his own arrogance. Who was he to talk? Since he had lost Rose, since he left her stranded on that blasted beach he'd been places, seen things. He was a different person. They both were.

A rough patch on the road jarred the Doctor out of the past. While he was remembering Rose had fallen asleep. She rested her head on his shoulder, and although she had been silent in the Jeep she hadn't removed her hand from his. There was still hope. He contented himself with staring out the window at the rapidly passing landscape. He liked hope.

__________________________________

She woke as they drove up the ramp to take the Eurotunnel back to England. Pete and Jackie took turns driving so they didn't have to stop for sleep. Being back home would do everyone good, would help them to put the horrific events they had almost witnessed behind them. He had slept intermittently. It was still new to him. As a Time Lord he only slept when he was injured or under a great deal of stress. As the Jeep was fastened on to the flatbed with the other cars the Doctor felt Rose stiffen.

"What's wrong?" He kept his voice soft, for her ears only.

She drew her lips into a tight smile. "It's just…the dark…the closeness of the walls." Rose looked away. "Reminds me of…something unpleasant."

"Something Torchwood?"

"Yeah."

He let the matter drop. Talking was hard with Pete and Jackie and Tony so close. There were so many things he wanted to say that he couldn't in their presence. He let go of Rose's hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She looked a bit startled, but relaxed slightly and flashed him a thin-lipped smile.

Rose didn't know why she lied. Well, it wasn't a lie, not exactly. The darkness of the tunnel reminded her of the Void, and the Void was something to do with Torchwood. It was a stretch, and she knew it. But she couldn't bring herself to talk about it. Not now, not yet. His arm was solid and warm around her. She could feel the swell and fall of his chest as he breathed, but as they began to move through the tunnel memories rose up, unbidden. The sense of pure nothing, of absolute removal. The vertigo that swept over her like the tide. The nausea and relief that accompanied her entrance into reality–any reality. The emptiness that followed when she realized that it was not the right reality. The soul-crushing weariness of so, so many failures.

And they were out of the tunnel. The Jeep rolled back onto the road and Rose looked up at the Doctor. He smiled at her.

"Better?"

She nodded. "Yeah." The Jeep lurched as Pete slammed on the break and another car slid in front of them. Jackie shrieked something loud and uncomplimentary out the window. The other driver responded with a two-fingered salute.

"Miserable idiot!" she fumed at Pete. The Doctor rolled his eyes.

"Forget that biological feedback device for the reality bomb. I should have just let Jackie loose on the lot of them. Even a Dalek would run away from that." He gestured at her.

Rose cracked a grin at the image of her mother nagging and scolding Daleks. The Doctor quirked an eyebrow.

"Was that a smile?"

She straightened her mouth. "No."

He leaned in close to her. "That was a smile."

"Maybe."

He kept his right arm around her shoulders and reached out with his left, taking her hand. "It's me, Rose. Everything that he is, I am. Everything he remembers, so do I." He brought the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. "Everything he feels, I feel."

"Just…just give me a little time, yeah?" She took a deep breath. Everything was moving too fast. Her mind raced and her head ached. "I just need a little time."

He squeezed her hand and let it fall. "All right."

__________________________________

Three people were waiting for them when they arrived at the Tyler mansion.

"I told them not to come!" Jackie complained. "Honestly, does anyone ever listen to me? I've given up on you two," she jerked her head at the Doctor and Rose, "but I thought Jake had more sense!"

"Be fair, love. They've all been worried." Pete pointed out. Jackie sighed as they stopped at the end of the long driveway.

"Best get out and let them see you. They won't leave 'til they do," she called back to Rose, who nodded. The people, two men and one woman, waited until Rose exited the vehicle before they swarmed her. The Doctor hung back a bit, watching, until he caught a glimpse of a familiar face.

"Jake!" he exclaimed. The man turned.

"Doctor!" He held out his hand and the Doctor shook it heartily. "We didn't think you were coming back?"

The Doctor scratched his ear. "Yes, well, plans changed a bit, I suppose. Anyway, nice job with the dimension cannon and all. If you hadn't sent Rose we would have been toast."

Jake shook his head. "That weren't me, Doctor. I get most of the tech. stuff, but Tosh is the genius." He nodded to the small Asian woman who was talking with Rose. "Two of them were at it for months."

"All right you layabouts!" Jackie's voice cut through the chatter. "You've seen her, now off with you! She'll be back at Torchwood soon enough, right now it's time for her to get some rest!"

"Mum," Rose protested, "I'm fine, really!" The Doctor knew she was lying. Even after sleeping almost 12 hours straight at the hotel, and her long naps in the car, he could still see dark circles under her eyes and she looked paler than usual.

"Bed, sweetheart!" Jackie knew it too. "You pushed yourself for far too long with that dimension cannon thing, Rose. You need sleep and a decent meal."

"None of her cooking, then," the Doctor muttered to Rose. She smiled a bit.

"I phoned ahead, had Janine get your rooms ready," Pete said to Rose as her friends filed back to their car.

"Thanks Dad."

He glanced at the Doctor. "We have a guest room…"

"He can kip in my room, on the sofa," Rose interrupted. "'S too easy to get lost in there if you're not used to it."

Pete nodded. "Right." He checked his watch. "Arthur should have dinner ready in about an hour, if you're hungry."

She smiled at him. "Famished."

He hugged her. "I'm glad you're back, sweetheart."

She sniffled a bit. "Me too, Dad."

"Pete!" Jackie's voice rang out from the open door.

He stepped back. "Right then, I'll leave you two to get settled. Coming, dear!" He called to Jackie, and followed her inside.

__________________________________

The Doctor realized, as he followed Rose through the white-walled, white-carpeted halls of the Tyler mansion that she was right: it was far too easy to get lost in this house that wasn't even bigger on the inside. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he thought about his beautiful, magnificent TARDIS, and his hand strayed to the pocket where the piece lay nestled in the fabric of his suit. Even in this part-human body he could feel the tentative psychic link between himself and the coral fragment. It was dormant now, waiting. Sleeping. So faint compared to the song of his old ship, but it was there. A little bit of home in this brave new world.

"Here we are." Rose opened the door. Her "room" was more like a flat attached to the Tyler mansion. Inside was a bedroom, sitting room, bathroom, office, and a tiny kitchenette. They looked temporary, like a home does when all of the knickknacks and clutter are still in boxes, waiting to be unpacked. The furnishings were sparse, and there were no photos on the wall, no posters.

The Doctor looked around. "It's…nice." The words sounded insincere even to him.

"Dad had it done up after…after Canary Warf." Rose stood with her arms wrapped tightly around her body as she looked around. "I didn't do much with it. Just a place to sleep, really…didn't think I'd be coming back." Her voice shook a little and she took a steadying breath. Hold it in, just a little longer, just a little longer…

The Doctor took her hand. "Rose." She turned to face him and bit the inside of her cheek, struggling to keep her emotions in check. His face was still, serious, as he brought his other hand to her face and stroked her cheek gently. He slid his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her closer to him. It was too much. Rose buried her face in his suit jacket and wept. So long, she'd had to be strong for so long. All the doubt and fear, the loss and loneliness, all the things she had pushed aside in her quest to find him burst out of her in sobs. The Doctor held her to him until her shoulders stopped shaking and she was breathing evenly, her head still nestled against his chest.

Rose could hear his single heart beating. She took a deep breath and drew herself away from him. She smiled as she wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "Sorry. First time we're properly alone and I go all to pieces."

"Rose." She looked up at him. "You've been so brave. If you didn't go to pieces, at least a little bit, you wouldn't be human." She smiled. "Now!" He turned brusquely and strode into the living room. "I just have one question." She followed him.

"What's that?"

He gestured at the sofa, which was actually more of a love seat. "Are you really going to make me sleep on that? I mean, I'm sure I could manage if I curled up into a ball, or I could sleep on the floor or something, but you've got this nice soft bed…" He ran back into the bedroom and bounced on it. "See? Much more comfortable than the couch or the floor!" She laughed.

"You're incorrigible." He grinned. She rolled her eyes. "All right, you can have the bed."

"But then where will you sleep?" He sounded shocked. "I couldn't kick you out of your own bed in your own home!"

Rose sat down next to him and took his hand. "Then I'll have to sleep here too." They were silent for a moment as they both looked down.

"Right! Do you think Jackie has sent out a search party yet? Although, from the size of this place, they'd need at least a couple days to look every–"

"Did you miss me?" Rose's soft question cut through his babble.

The Doctor tilted her chin up gently so she was looking at him and not the floor. "More than you can imagine."

__________________________________

Dinner was a cheerful affair. The meal that Arthur, the cook, provided was delicious without being incredibly fancy. It was a marked improvement over previous meals the Doctor had shared with Rose's family. Jackie Tyler excelled at many things, but cooking wasn't one of them. They ate in a small room just off the formal dining room. Whereas this universe's Jackie had enjoyed throwing lavish parties with dozens of rich and famous guests, Rose's mother preferred to spend the evening meal with her family. Not that she didn't still love a party, but having a three-year old made organizing parties difficult. Tony was overjoyed to see his sister again, and refused to sit in his chair. Instead, he sat on Rose's lap and asked her an almost constant stream of questions.

"Did you meet the president? Did you travel in time again? What were the other worlds like? Were there giant lizards? Or killer bees? Are you going to stay now?"

Rose smiled at the little boy. He looked so much like her. "Yes, Tony. I'm going to stay."

"Hooray!" If he hadn't been on her lap with her arms around him, the Doctor supposed that Tony would have been jumping up and down.

"Now Tony, leave Rose alone so she can eat something," Jackie scolded him. The little boy turned his attention, and apparently boundless energy, on the Doctor.

"Are you an alien?"

"Tony! Stop chattering and eat your dinner!" The little boy turned his attention back to his food, at least for a moment.

Pete cleared his throat. "I'll take care of your papers tomorrow, Doctor."

"If it's any trouble–" The Doctor was hesitant to accept help from Torchwood. Rose, and Pete, had assured him that it was different now. New regime, new attitude, new everything, but he still didn't trust them.

"Not at all. Not for Torchwood. Not considering what the two of you did for us when Lumic went mad."

The table was silent. Pete's first wife, this universe's original Jackie Tyler had died that night along with thousands of others. The memories that accompanied the mention of Lumic were definitely less than pleasant. Tony, blissfully oblivious, finished his dinner and pulled Rose into the living room to play.

__________________________________

The Doctor lay on Rose's bed staring up at the ceiling, his long legs stretched out and his hands behind his head. He was wearing white and blue striped jim jams, again, but sans fruit this time. They were a little short, he noted critically, and a little loose. But, beggars can't be choosers. Or was it choosers didn't beg? Earth idioms were strange indeed.

He glanced up as the door to the bathroom creaked open. Rose stepped out and closed the door behind her. She was not wearing blue and white striped jim jams, he noticed astutely. Her sleepwear was nothing fancy, just a pair of soft cotton shorts and a loose tank top. Her hair was damp from the shower, as was her skin. She cracked a tired smile.

"I don't know where Tony gets all that energy." She flopped down on the bed. "Remind me again why we haven't started using small children to solve the world's energy crisis?"

The Doctor grinned. "Because putting them all in giant hamster wheels and dangling Xboxes in front of them is cruel and unusual punishment?" She laughed and for a moment it was old times. "Remember the last time I was in jim jams?" he asked, smiling. "Christmas day, the Sycorax?"

"You nearly died," Rose pointed out.

"Yeah but I didn't!" he protested.

"You've got Mum to thank for that."

The Doctor snorted. "Like she'll let me forget that."

Rose laughed again. "Don't count on it." She flashed him a smile, a _Rose_ smile–a face-splitting grin with her tongue caught between her teeth. Then she got up and moved toward the light switch. His eyes travelled down the curve of her neck to her shoulder, and stopped. Twining out from under the back of her tank top, thin white scars covered most of her back. He moved behind her and ran a hand lightly over them. Rose stiffened slightly.

"You didn't have these the last time I saw you," he said quietly.

"Well, that was a while ago, yeah?"

"Rose. What happened?"

She shrugged. "It was the dimension cannon. The first time we tried to use it, it exploded."

"That must have hurt."

Her lips twisted in an ironic smile that he could hear in her tone even if her back was to him. "Not as much as starting over. Coming up with the theory alone took a year, and then building the first one, and then finding out why it wouldn't work, and then fixing it, and then–" she stopped. "It was such a stupid mistake, and we lost so much time."

"It wouldn't have mattered in the end, Rose," the Doctor replied quietly. "The dimension cannon could not have worked until the Reality Bomb broke down the walls of the universes."

"It was still maddening. Took six months to find and fix one tiny mistake."

The Doctor frowned. "How long did you say Torchwood was working on the machine?"

"A little over three years."

He shook his head. "That's impossible, Rose. It's only been two years and eleven months since you…arrived." He pulled her around so she was facing him and he could see the half-pitying, half-mocking expression on her face.

"You should know better, Doctor. Why did it take three years for the Cybermen to get to the other universe?"

"The sheer mass–"

"That's not true and you know it!" Anger crept into her voice. "Time doesn't move the same in the Void as it does here, or in the other universe. Two years passed for you, a little longer for Mum and Pete and Tony, but not for me."

"How long?" She looked away and pressed her lips together. He tightened his grip on her arms. "How long, Rose?"

"Six years."

He let go of her and took a shocked step back. "Six-?"

"Years," she finished. "Three here, three traveling through the Void. I could be gone for hours, or days, or weeks, and end up just after I left."

"How many universes did you see?" His voice was soft, just above a whisper.

"Millions." She sounded tired, so very, very tired. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a fierce hug.

"I'm sorry," he murmured as he buried his face in her hair. "I'm so, so sorry."


	2. Coming Home

When he woke the next morning she was gone. For a moment he didn't remember where he was and panic curled in his stomach. The he reached out his hand to where she had lain beside him. The bed was still warm. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. He was in Pete's world, yesterday was not a dream, and Rose was here somewhere. He glanced at the clock on her bedside table and blinked. It was not yet six in the morning. When Rose was on the TARDIS she only ever woke before eight if he forced her up, and then she abandoned her bed begrudgingly. He rolled out of bed and groaned. His muscles screamed at him as he stretched, trying to shake off his stiffness. Stupid part human body, stupid Davros with his stupid electrical finger.

He peeked into the other rooms. Rose wasn't there. Still, better safe than sorry. He grabbed his suit from the back of the chair on which it had been resting and headed to the bathroom to change.

_______________________________

He found Rose sitting at a table that was tucked away in a nook off the kitchen. She was holding a mug of what appeared to be tea and a plate with a few stray crumbs dusting the surface lay next to her elbow. Pete sat across from her with a newspaper shielding his face. He was drinking coffee, strong stuff going by the smell that permeated the room. The Doctor kissed the top of Rose's head.

"Good morning."

She smiled at him. "G'morning. D'you want some tea?"

"Yes, thanks."

She set her mug down and wandered over to the kitchen proper. The Doctor followed her. As she set about making him a mug of tea he perused a bunch of pastries sitting on a plate. He selected one that he thought was cream filled. He bit into it, and made a face. Raspberry jam.

"Bleh." He discreetly spit the offending bit into a napkin and wiped his tongue for good measure.

"You are so weird." Rose handed him his tea.

"It was raspberry, Rose," he said by way of explanation. She laughed.

There was noise in the hallway—a small tornado seemed to be making its way to the kitchen.

"Here comes trouble," Pete remarked as Tony burst into the room with Jackie hot on his heels. He tackled Rose.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Jackie pried him off. "He's just so glad you're back. Now, you little menace, sit down so I can get you some breakfast!"

Pete checked his watch as he stood and gave Jackie a kiss on the cheek. "See you later, love." Rose squeezed the Doctor's hand and moved to join her father.

"And where do you think you're going?" Jackie asked.

"I've got to get back to work, Mum."

Jackie put her hands on her hips. "Rose Marion Tyler you sit back down. You have pushed yourself for almost three years on this bloody project. You need a day off and he—" she gestured at the Doctor, "needs new clothes."

"What's wrong with my suit?" the Doctor objected.

"For starters, it's the only one you've got," Jackie responded scathingly. She switched tactics as she turned back to her daughter. "Take a day off, Rose. Just one. The world doesn't end because Rose Tyler enjoys herself."

_______________________________

"What about this, then?" The Doctor strode out of the fitting room and spun for Rose's benefit.

"Another suit?"

He shrugged. "I like suits, don't you?"

"I'm not complaining." She straightened his collar. "Never thought I'd see you doing this."

"How do you mean?"

She gestured around them. "Shopping, for clothes. The TARDIS had the wardrobe, but this is all so…domestic."

"That's what makes it an adventure! It's brand new. Never done anything like it." The Doctor said as he examined his image in the mirror. As much as he wanted to believe the words himself, he had to admit that shopping for clothes was not his favorite activity and he only endured it because he had no other choice.

"Are you sure about that tie?" Rose asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

The Doctor frowned. "What's wrong with my tie?"

"It's covered with little chickens." She bit her lip as she tried to hold in her laughter.

"Marvelous animal, the chicken. If it didn't exist where would you get the eggs you use to make bread? And what about fried chicken? The chicken is a perfectly good bird!"

Rose laughed.

"All right, maybe not." It was worth looking ridiculous to see her smile.

_______________________________

Rose arranged to have the clothes that the Doctor picked out sent to the mansion. They strolled the streets of London, watching the busses and cars and people rushing about.

"You know, I never asked, but how are you paying for this? I mean, we're going to have to start paying for things like chips and taxis and—and a mortgage. I'm actually going to have to get a mortgage." He pulled a face. "Now there's something I didn't see coming. Me in a house, a proper house with windows and doors-"

"And carpets?" Rose asked and grinned at him, her tongue between her teeth.

"And carpets. Or maybe not. What are they even good for, besides tripping you up in the middle of the night on your way to the loo?"

"You're not the only one, you know."

"The only one who trips on carpets?" He was being deliberately ridiculous.

"The only one to get a mortgage, you plum!" She punched him in the arm lightly.

"Oy!" he protested. They both laughed. "What about Pete and Jackie? You've got a place there."

She shook her head. "I love them all, but that's not my home. Every time I'm there it reminds me of…of…before."

He took her hand as they walked. "We could share," he offered, quietly. "Or not, if you'd rather be alone."

She shook her head. "I've spent the past six years alone." She smiled to herself. "D'you remember what I said when we were stranded on that impossible planet, orbiting a black hole?"

"When the TARDIS fell into the center of the planet and we thought we were stuck?"

"Yeah."

He shrugged. "You said a lot of things."

She rolled her eyes. "I said, 'Stuck with you isn't so bad.'"

The Doctor was quiet for a moment. "Yeah."

"I meant it." Rose's voice was very serious. 

He sniffed, and grinned as a familiar fragrance wafted through the air and reminded him that he hadn't had anything to eat except a mouthful of donut. "Rose?"

"Yeah?" She glanced up at him.

"Can you smell chips?"

She grinned. "Yes, yes I can."

_______________________________

Rose paid, of course, as the Doctor still had no money.

"Nothing but the clothes on my back," he remarked as they sat on a bench and ate chips. 

"You're going to have to get a job," Rose pointed out. "Dad would be right pleased to take you at Torchwood."

The Doctor made a face.

"Don't look like that!" She replied at his obvious distaste at her suggestion.

"But it's Torchwood, Rose. After everything that they've done, working for them would be like, like—"

"Like a betrayal?" she asked quietly. He nodded. "But it's not, because this isn't the same Torchwood. If it was, d'you think I would be able to work there? D'you think that I've forgotten that the only reason I ended up here was because Torchwood couldn't leave that spatial disturbance alone?" She pressed her lips into a thin line and stared at her chips. "I hated them," she said after a while. "I blamed them for everything, but working for them was the only thing I could do, the only thing I was good at. And after a while, I realized that this world, this Torchwood, is different. Dad made it different, and Mickey and I helped." She raised her eyes from the ground to regard him. He looked away. "This universe needs a Doctor. It needs someone to save the world by being clever, instead of having the biggest gun or the deadliest bomb. You could do that, with Torchwood." She hesitated, suddenly unsure. "And…and they might be able to help you with the TARDIS." He jerked his head around to look at her sharply. "What Donna said on the beach, how you could speed up the TARDIS's growth. They might be able to help with equipment."

He sighed. "I'll think about it, Rose."

She squeezed his hand. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For—" Something exploded and the world seemed to heave like the deck of a ship in a storm. Rose and the Doctor were on their feet in a flash, clinging to each other to keep their balance.

"Where?" he asked tersely. Rose cast her eyes around until they fixed on a pillar of smoke.

"That way!" She pointed, he nodded, and they were off. Rose Tyler and the Doctor were running. He clenched her hand tightly as they wove through crowds of people who were dashing away from the thick black smoke that rose like a beacon through the still air. She was glad that she wore jeans despite her mother's comments on her appearance. His trainers hit the ground in the regular rhythm of someone who is used to running for his life. Her hair streamed out behind her like a banner of liquid gold. He was smiling. So was she.

They stopped about twenty feet away from the spaceship. Its nose was buried in the wall of a warehouse. Broken bricks and twisted metal littered the ground around it, and a wide, charred scrape in the earth marked where the ship had originally landed, and then slid forward with the force of its fall. People were standing outside the building, gawking at the twisted hunk of metal that did not at all resemble an Earth craft. The crowd fell back a bit as a muffled explosion made the ship shudder. The Doctor and Rose pushed through the throng. He walked around the ship, taking stock of it. She pulled out her phone and pressed something on the speed dial. The call was brief and she joined him once it was over.

"Torchwood?" he asked, his eyes still roaming about the craft in front of them.

"On their way." She glanced back at the crowd. "They'll take care of this lot."

"We need to get in there."

"Is it safe?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, but the crew could still be alive. Ship this big, should have two people at least. Well, not people."

"I figured." She rolled up the sleeves on her jump. "Let's go, then. Do we have to worry about radiation?"

He shook his head again. "No, they wouldn't use an independent nuclear drive on something this size. Let me just—damn." He reached into his left jacket pocket but his hand came out empty. "No sonic."

"Allow me." Rose pulled a device that looked rather like a pen out of her purse. "Where's the door?"

The Doctor led her around to the back. "The mechanism's jammed, there's no way we can get it open without the sonic."

Rose twisted the cap on her device, pushed a button, and aimed it at the hull surrounding the door. A thin beam of red light shot out of the end of the device and sparks flew as Rose moved it slowly around the door. When she had outlined the portal completely she pushed another button, twisted the cap back, and put the stick away. She strode up to the smoking metal and considered her options briefly. Then she leaned back, raised her leg, and kicked the door in.

"That was a compact laser generator," the Doctor exclaimed as he followed her into the ship. "Where did you get that?"

Rose grinned. "Thank you Tosh." As they stepped inside acrid black smoke bellowed out. She grabbed a hanky from her purse and handed it to the Doctor, then fixed another over her own mouth. It wouldn't do to pass out from smoke inhalation before they knew if anyone was hurt.

Her eyes watered and stung and she let the Doctor take the lead. The ship was about fifty feet long, and just over two stories tall. Rose was not optimistic about their chances of finding the pilots alive. They came to a split in the corridor. The Doctor motioned for Rose to take the left branch while he explored the right. The corridor sloped and curved, and a little less than a minute later she almost ran into him as the two lanes converged again.

"The bridge should be just ahead!" the Doctor shouted over the hiss of steam and the buzzing showers of sparks. Rose nodded.

The door to the bridge was open. It reminded her of the space shows that Mickey used to watch—Star Trek, and that other one, the one with the robots—Battle Star Galactica. Two roughly human-shaped figures were slumped over the control panel. The Doctor checked for life signs. Rose was glad that he knew what to look for. She was unfamiliar with the species in front of them. He nodded and held up two fingers, and then gave her a thumbs-up. They were both alive, but apparently unconscious. The Doctor grabbed one of the aliens under his/her arms, Rose grabbed the other, and they dragged the two out of the space ship and laid them on the pavement a safe distance away. Immediately the crowd swarmed around them.

"I thought you said Torchwood was coming!" the Doctor shouted at Rose as he struggled to keep the people away.

"Oh, now you can't wait to see them!" she snapped back. "All right, everyone, back up!" Her voice cracked like a whip. One of the aliens coughed weakly. Curious bodies shoved against her. "I said back!"

"Right!" Other bodies dressed in dark clothes and dark glasses pushed through the crowd and formed a protective barrier in front of the Doctor and Rose. The moved the people back and began recording their testimony and processing them. Rose sighed in relief and pulled the hanky away from her mouth. It was smudged with soot, like her face. Her hand went to her hair.

"Great. It's going to take hours to scrub the smell of smoke out," she noted.

"What's going on here?" Pete strode up to the two of them, followed by four medics.

"It appears to be a crash landing, sir," Rose responded. The Doctor blinked. She looked and sounded different. For the first time he noticed that her clothes were almost identical to those worn by the other Torchwood agents: dark shirt, dark pants, sturdy shoes. She wore the garments like a suit of armor, like he wore his suits. She stood straighter and kept her head back and her heels together, as if she had stopped just before saluting. Her tone was brisk and confident, with no trace of mischief or sarcasm.

"I thought this was your day off, Rose," Pete reminded her, at once a concerned parent and her superior.

"It was. We wandering when we heard the crash and just happened to get here first," the Doctor supplied. "We couldn't very well leave the Graxa inside to die from smoke inhalation."

"Graxa?" Pete raised an eyebrow.

The Doctor gestured to the aliens. The medics were strapping them on stretchers and preparing to load them into the waiting ambulance. "They're called the Graxa, from the planet Ehlaren." He frowned. "They're a bit far from home. The ship should have a green box," he held his hands apart, "about so big, in the control panel on the bridge. It's their equivalent of a black box. We didn't have time to get it, but it might be able to tell you why they crashed."

Pete nodded. "We'll keep an eye out. And you two had better get home and get cleaned up before Jackie has a fit."

As they trudged away from the still-burning ship, Rose smiled. The adrenaline was fading from her system, and the extreme focus and energy she had felt earlier was dissipating into a familiar ache and a welcome fatigue.

"Do you think they'll be all right?" Rose asked the Doctor. He shrugged.

"Don't know. They were in there a fair few minutes before we arrived. And the Graxa are a great deal more sensitive to toxins and pollutants than humans. The smoke might have been too much for them."

"Rose!" Jake called after them. The paused and let him catch up. "Are you coming back tomorrow?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'll be there. Why?"

He looked at her like she was daft. "There's that interview with that doctor."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware of any interview."

Jake shook his head. "No, a regular doctor. An Earth doctor. Remember, Rose, Vernon put in for that transfer to Cardiff? Although, I've got no idea why he'd want to spend the rest of his career in Wales." The agent pulled a face. Rose giggled.

"Right, right. What was her name again?"

"Martha. Martha Milligan."


	3. Things Fall Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is taken from "The Second Coming," by W.B. Yeats.
> 
> "Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;  
> Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,  
> The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere  
> The ceremony of innocence is drowned;"

Martha Milligan, nee Jones, examined her appearance in the mirror one last time, and wondered why she felt so nervous. It was just an interview–she'd already been to one for this job and the supervising doctor, Dr. Kane, said that she had done very well. She was glad someone thought so. The interview had included a practical examination, and the symptoms they presented to her made no sense. Her eyes wandered to the picture tucked into the mirror's frame. A rugged, serious young man was kneeling in a crowd of children. Martha smiled, pressed her fingers to her lips and touched the man's face. Thomas Milligan, her husband, smiled back at her. She stepped back from the mirror and grabbed her coat.

They had been married for two years, but they spent as much time apart as they did together. Tom worked for a charity and did a great deal of work in Africa with children. Martha wondered sometimes how he managed to stay positive when he worked in cramped, understaffed, badly-outfitted refugee camps. She didn't believe that she had it in her to see what he saw, to know that for every child he saved five would die. Perhaps that was why she remained in England while he was abroad. The charity would have taken her–she was an excellent doctor, but she had applied instead to a place her cousin Adeola had found. She wasn't really expecting them to call her back; they were some sort of fancy private clinic–an image that called to mind specialists with degrees from all around the world, but they had. And they seemed genuinely interested in her. She smiled as she waved for a taxi. "Who knows, maybe you're moving up in the world, Martha Milligan," she said softly to herself.

__________________________________

Rose closed the door to her office and smiled. It was just as she left it. Her desk sat in front of a huge picture window, facing the door. The blinds were closed against the early morning sunlight that gilded Canary Wharf. Two comfortable chairs were clustered around a small table in the far corner of the room. Sheaves of paper were organized into neat stacks on her desk, and a mug of steaming tea was waiting for her. Rose made a mental note to remind Florence that she was the best secretary ever.

"Best get to work," she murmured as she settled behind her long desk, and sighed. "No more vacations for me." Working through the reports alone would take most of the day, and there was something she had to do, something important. Rose frowned as she tried to remember.

"Right! Right, the interview with that doctor." Jake called her Martha, Rose remembered. She scanned her desk, and grabbed a file marked 'M. Milligan.' "Forewarned is forearmed," Rose murmured as she opened the folder. When had she started talking to herself? Everyone must think she's mad. Then again, who's to say she wasn't?

She blinked at the picture that smiled up at her from the file.

"Hello, Martha Jones," Rose said softly, and smiled. The universe was strange indeed.

__________________________________

Martha blinked as she entered Canary Wharf. People were everywhere: chatting on cell phones, catching elevators, drinking coffee, but it seemed somehow forced. She stood in front of what she assumed was the visitor's desk and cleared her throat. The clean-shaven young man who sat behind the desk looked up.

"Can I help you?" He was polite but firm.

"I'm here for an interview." Martha held out the small plastic card that Dr. Kane had given her. "I'm looking for a Ms. Tyler."

The young man, his name tag said 'Alex,' took the card from her and slid it into his computer. "Yes, welcome to Canary Wharf, Dr. Milligan." He handed her the card, and gestured to the silver door behind him. "If you would just step inside the elevator and insert your card."

Canary Wharf was a strange place, Martha decided as she waited for the elevator to arrive at wherever she was going. It had spoken to her earlier, when she slid her card into the designated slot. "Doctor Martha Milligan," it said. "Authorized. Welcome." Whatever that meant. How much security did a clinic need? It was nothing like the other places she had worked, even the research lab. She wondered briefly how Addy, who was some kind of computer programmer, even knew about an open medical position. And then the elevator stopped and the doors opened.

The room outside of the elevator was small. A young woman sat behind a long desk and a tall man in a dark suit stood next to the only door. The woman looked up and smiled.

"Hello there! Can I have your name, please?" She was polite enough, but Martha knew that it wasn't exactly a request.

"I'm Martha Milligan," she said. "I'm here for an interview with Ms. Tyler?"

The woman typed something on her computer. "Jason will show you to Ms. Tyler's office, Dr. Milligan."

The man opened the door. "If you'll follow me, please," he said and held the door for her to enter. He was dressed like a businessman, but he held himself differently, and Martha had a feeling that his job description included showing intruders the way out as well as showing authorized people the way in. As they walked through the white halls of the building Martha was glad that someone knew the way. She kept getting turned around, but maybe that was their intention. She rolled her eyes at her own thoughts. Paranoid much?

Finally the man, Jason, stopped in front of a door. He knocked.

"Yes?" a woman's muffled voice came through the wood.

He opened the door. "Martha Milligan to see you, ma'am."

"Thank you, Jason." A chair was pushed back inside the room and a woman's face appeared in the doorway a moment later. "Come in, Dr. Milligan."

"Call me Martha, please," she responded with a smile. "Dr. Milligan is my husband's mother."

"And I'm Rose." The woman held out her hand and Martha shook it. She looked strangely familiar, like Martha had seen her before.

__________________________________

Rose led them away from her desk to the chairs clustered in the corner. It was strange, seeing an alternate version of the Martha Jones she met a few days ago. It felt like a lifetime away, and Rose supposed that it was. That was the old universe, after all. This Martha was married and still a doctor. She hadn't yet become a soldier driven by duty and responsibility.

"Dr. Kane was quite impressed with your conclusions," she told the young woman.

Martha laughed. "To be honest, I wasn't sure what to make of the symptoms."

Rose nodded. "Understandable. They were rather unique; however, you analyzed them, correctly identified the most pressing issues, and formulated a treatment plan. Impressive." It was especially impressive considering that the disease she had been studying did not originate on Earth, and was thus completely foreign to her. "You must be wondering, Martha, why you're being interviewed by someone who is not a doctor."

Martha smiled. "A little bit, yeah."

Rose straightened and turned her full attention to the woman sitting in front of her. "I need to know if you can keep your head in the middle of what amounts to a battle field, if you can take orders without question and without understanding exactly what is happening. I need to know if you can face the end of the world and most importantly, I need to know if I can trust you." Her eyes bored into Martha as if she was trying to strip away her skin and see into her soul. "Can I trust you, Martha Jones?"

"It' s Milligan, not Jones," the other woman corrected, almost unconsciously. She was staring back at Rose. There was something unnerving in the woman's intensity, something strange about her eyes. She couldn't be older than Martha was, but something ancient and timeless bled through. It sent chills up her spine. "And I'm sorry, but this sounds like I'm signing up for the Armed Forces. I applied for a medical position?"

Rose leaned back. "You did. Tell me, Martha Milligan, what do you know about Torchwood?"

Martha blinked as she suddenly remembered where she had seen Rose Tyler. The celebrity rags in the hospital break room. Something about a movie premier and there, on the cover: Rose Tyler, Vitex heiress. "You're Torchwood?"

Rose grinned. "Yes."

__________________________________

Rose led Martha back through the maze of corridors to the tiny room and the elevator. She was impressed, and understood why Dr. Kane recommended the other woman beyond her abilities as a doctor. After Martha had gotten over her initial surprise at Rose's dual identity she asked surprisingly astute questions.

"Take a day to think it over," Rose said as they stopped in front of the door.

"I will." Martha nodded somewhat distantly. Rose could almost see the ideas flitting through her mind. Since the Lumic incident and Pete's installation as the Director of Torchwood the organization was much more open than it had been. It was better that way, Rose thought. The secrecy was too difficult to maintain. Without some kind of oversight it would be too easy for a zealous leader to take things a step too far–as her original universe had.

"Then I look forward to hearing from you." Rose opened the door and gestured for Martha to exit first. She did, and stopped just out of the doorway. A tall, handsome man in a smart suit was leaning against the wall opposite the desk, looking irritated and incredibly bored. His eyes widened as he saw her, and Martha thought she saw an expression in them like recognition.

"Martha Jones!" he cried and took long strides to stand in front of her.

She blinked. "Have we met?"

He regarded her curiously. "I'm guessing not. Well, not yet anyway. I'm the Doctor." He stuck out his hand.

She took it. "Pleased to meet you, doctor–?"

"John Smith, astrophysicist and extra-terrestrial expert," Rose said from the doorway, clearly amused.

"He works for you, then?" Martha asked her.

Rose smiled. "He–collaborates sometimes. Usually with my team but I loan him out every-so-often."

"Oi!" he protested, pretending to be offended. "There you are, Rose. Now, can you please tell this lovely, charming woman," he was being completely insincere, "that I am not a terrorist, or a stalker, or an international spy, and thus am allowed to see you?"

"What, have you found the one woman in the universe you can't charm?" she asked coyly.

The Doctor huffed. "Second woman, thank you very much. It's no use trying to charm your mum." Rose laughed.

The young woman behind the desk glanced at her. "Everything all right, Ms. Tyler?"

"Yes, thank you Florence." Rose nodded at the Doctor. "He's clear. Now, Dr. Milligan."

"Martha," she interjected.

"Martha," Rose affirmed. "It was a pleasure to meet you, and I hope to hear from you soon."

Martha knew a dismissal when she heard one. She made her farewells and departed back down the elevator. It was only after the doors closed that she realized that Dr. Smith and Rose Tyler both called her by her maiden name, and apparently knew her, although she had never met either of them before in her life. And how did the daughter of a billionaire become an alien-fighting secret agent anyway? She shook her head. These people were a mystery, and she hated to admit it, but she was intrigued.

__________________________________

"Blimey," the Doctor said as he flopped down in one of the comfortable chairs in Rose's office. "I didn't even think about all the other parallel people we might meet."

"D'you suppose there's a parallel Donna running around somewhere?" Rose asked. "I'd like to meet her." She grinned. Donna Noble was a formidable woman, and she was good for the Doctor. She didn't let him get away with anything.

He was quiet for a while. "Dunno. Maybe."

"She looked well. Happy." Rose tried to break the silence.

"Yeah." The Doctor stared at the wall, apparently lost in thought.

Rose was reminded once more of how long she had been away. Neither one of them had spoken of their time apart since the first night. They would have to discuss it eventually, she knew, but until then she preferred to let it lie. She wanted to pretend that everything was okay for a little longer. She wanted to push back everything that happened after Bad Wolf Bay and just be the Doctor and Rose. Didn't she deserve to be happy? After everything she did for the universe, didn't she deserve something?

She watched him stare at the wall and knew he was thinking about Martha, other-universe Martha. She felt jealousy stir inside her. It was irrational to think that he would have been alone since she left. She had Mickey. The Doctor evidently believed that the two of them would end up together. Maybe they would have, if she had never met the time-travelling alien who could show her the universe and feel the turn of the Earth. Rose knew now that she had been lost the moment he grabbed her hand. The moment he said "run."

"How are our friends?"

Rose realized that he was talking to her. "What?"

"The Graxa. How are they?" He quirked an eyebrow and stared at her expectantly.

She sighed. "They didn't make it. You were right; the smoke did too much damage. But Michael, Dr. Kane, said that they seemed healthy besides the injuries sustained in the crash. That rules out one theory."

"And the box?"

Rose consulted her notes. "Tosh and the tech squad have it. It's got some pretty sophisticated security measures, so it may take them a while to crack it."

He stood, once more a ball of barely contained energy. "In that case–" he held out his hand, "would you care to accompany me to an early lunch?"

She grinned, her tongue between her teeth, and laced her fingers through his. "I would."

__________________________________

"Rose, why is the waitress staring at you?" The Doctor sounded faintly amused and more than a little curious. She glanced around the small café and groaned.

"I'm famous here," she murmured. "Can't go anywhere without getting noticed. It's a right pain sometimes."

"Right, right." His eyes travelled over the other patrons and he realized that several glanced frequently at their table. "Doesn't that make working for Torchwood hard?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes, but not always. Rose Tyler, Vitex heiress, works for her father's charity. She frequents posh restaurants and wears fancy clothes. Rose Tyler, Torchwood agent, dresses much more sensibly."

"The clothes make the man–or woman," the Doctor said and smiled. "Did you know that in Elizabethan times clothing was rigorously regulated? Wear the wrong thing and off with your head!"

She laughed. He loved it when she laughed. Her whole being seemed to light up with joy. He didn't mind being completely ridiculous if he could make her laugh. Of course, she would probably say that he didn't know how to not be ridiculous. But that was entirely a matter of opinion. "Speaking of Vitex and all that, how did you make it work?"

"What, being Rose Tyler?"

He nodded.

"Dad had his people whip up a suitably scandalous story." She shrugged. "I think it sounds like a soap opera, but the rags swallowed it whole."

The Doctor grinned. "That's probably why they believe it."

"Apparently Mum was traumatized by the whole Lumic thing and lost her memory. Dad found her pretending to be Andrea Prentice and when she saw him everything came back to her and she remembered that she was actually Jackie Tyler." Rose snorted. "It was easier for me, seeing as how I never existed in this world. Back when I was born Pete Tyler still hadn't made any money, and him and Jackie hadn't gotten married yet. Dad's people made up some story about Mum being secretly pregnant and giving me away because she knew they couldn't afford me. But I needed to meet my real parents, so I searched them out and they adopted me."

The Doctor whistled. "That is a doozy of a story."

"You're telling me! It takes all of my incredible self-control to not laugh whenever I hear it!" Her watch beeped. She sighed. "I'd better get back. You would not believe the amount of paperwork I have waiting."

The Doctor made a face. "Paperwork. Bleh. Are you sure you don't want to run away with me?"

She stood, and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll see you tonight, yeah?"

 

"Yeah."  


____________________________________

Joshua Stone was eight years old. He loved everything to do with space and stars and aliens. His most precious possession was a telescope that his uncle gave him for his birthday, and at night he would scan the sky. He knew the names and positions of the constellations by heart.

He was playing in the street when the space ship crashed. After he realized that it was not going to explode and kill everyone, he had become part of the throng that gathered to watch. He saw the blond woman and the brown-haired man enter the ship. He saw them pull the pilots, the aliens, out. Like everyone else, he had pressed closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious creatures.

They were not what he expected. They looked almost human, if you ignored the slightly too-wide-set eyes and what looked like soft feathers where they should have had hair. He reached out and almost touched one, but then the blond woman was there, pushing him away. When the others came, they took his statement and sent him home to his mother.

Twenty-six hours later, he was in the hospital. Thirteen hours after that, he was dead.


	4. Fever Dreams

-12 September: 5am-

A phone rang in the darkness. The Doctor jerked awake. The phone rang again. Mumbling various uncomplimentary phrases, he rummaged around on the night stand next to Rose's bed. The phone rang twice more before he found it and managed to unlock the keyboard so he could answer.

"Rose?" the voice on the phone asked.

He blinked, clearing away sleep from his mind. "No, sorry. It's the Doctor." He frowned. "Pete?"

"One and the same. Look, I need you both at Torchwood, now. We've got a situation."

"What's happened?" The Doctor sat up and shook Rose's shoulder gently.

"I'll explain when you get here." Rose hadn't moved.

The Doctor shook her again, a bit harder. Her body moved limply with his hand, and he realized that her skin was hot to the touch. He foundered for the switch controlling the lamp on the night stand. Bright light blinded him temporarily.

"Doctor, are you there?" Pete's voice sounded suddenly far away.

"Rose?" the Doctor called. "Rose, can you hear me?" No response. He rolled her over on her back. Her eyes were closed tightly and she was shivering with enough force to shake her entire body. Flecks of red peppered her lips and the pillow around her face. His stomach plummeted. Blood.

Images of her pale with death flashed before his eyes and he couldn't breathe. They had come to him before, when he was still on the TARDIS. He wondered sometimes if that was why he didn't sleep–he didn't want to see his companions dead. A thousand different times, a thousand different ways would unfurl in his dreams and he would wake with a jaw sore from not crying-out.

"Doctor!" Pete's voice broke through his panic-induced haze.

"Pete. We've got a bit of a situation here." His hand shook as he held the phone to his ear.

"What? What's going on?"

"It's Rose."

___________________________________

A muscle twitched in the Doctor's jaw as he gripped the steering wheel of Rose's car tight enough to turn his knuckles white. More than anything he wanted to push the gas pedal all the way to the floor and to hell with speed limits, but he knew that getting pulled over would take more time than he had. He glanced over to Rose, who was strapped in to the passenger seat. She was wrapped in a sheet and still unconscious. Occasionally she would cough weakly and more blood would coat her lips.

He wanted to scream. Time Lord–it was right there in his name. Time was supposed to obey him, not the other way around! He could feel the seconds ticking away like drops of water running down his skin. Or drops of blood. Rose's blood. If he had the TARDIS he would be there by now, or better yet he would be at one of the hospitals from the future. Even those nurse-cat-nuns would do. A low growl of frustration built in the back of his throat.

"Almost there, Rose," he said, half to himself and half to her. "Almost there."

___________________________________

_The darkness was palpable. Rose struggled to hold herself together as she fought its pull. Thick, ropy coils of nothing twined around her arms and legs. Tendrils of nothing crawled up her flesh, burning and freezing at once. Oh God not again not again not again. She tried to scream, but nothing filled her mouth and crawled down her throat, choking her. She was drowning in the absolute nothing of the Void. And she was sinking. The blackness, impossibly heavy, was bearing her into the depths of nowhere._

___________________________________

The Doctor jerked to a stop as he pulled into the Torchwood parking garage not entirely of his own free will. A gate blocked the entrance, and a bored-looking young man leaned out from the window set in the wall next to the gate.

"Identification, please," the security guard demanded monotonously.

"Look, it's an emergency," the Doctor began.

"Identification, please."

The Doctor reached for his pocket, but the psychic paper wasn't there. He resisted the urge to reach through his window and strangle the officious idiot in the security uniform.

"I'm Dr. John Smith, Torchwood consultant, and this is Agent Tyler of the Torchwood Institute. She's injured and I need to--"

"Sir I cannot let you in the Canary Wharf parking garage without proper identification."

The Doctor grabbed Rose's purse and pulled out her wallet. He flipped through the clear plastic card-holders, pulled out her Torchwood I.D. card, and presented it to the guard. "Happy? Now can I please go on?"

The security guard checked the card thoroughly and then handed it back. "Enjoy your visit to Canary Wharf, sir."

The Doctor bit back a sarcastic retort, and continued in to the parking garage as the gate blocking the entrance receded into the wall. The lot was almost empty, but as he parked the Doctor spotted Pete's SUV and a handful of other cars clustered around the elevator.

___________________________________

Rose whimpered softly as the Doctor lifted her out of the car, and he winced. "Sorry," he murmured and started for the elevator. The machine gave a soft 'ding' and the door opened. Pete and Jake stepped out of the elevator and ran to the Doctor.

"What happened?" Rose's father looked like he hadn't slept at all.

"I don't know," the Doctor admitted. "She was like this when you called."

"It's the aliens," Jake inserted. "It's got to be. You two were there at the crash, and so were all of the other victims."

"Can we talk about this later?" the Doctor snapped. The elevator seemed to take an eternity to reach their destination. They were silent until the doors opened. Noise hit the Doctor like a slap. Voices cried out in pain, in frustration, in question.

"This way." Pete led them down a long corridor to a large, open room. Hospital beds lined the walls–there had to be at least thirty or forty in this room alone. The Doctor wondered briefly why Torchwood needed so many, but he pushed the idea aside. No time for that now. Five people occupied beds.

"She's not the only one?" the Doctor inquired as they settled Rose in an empty bed next to the others.

Pete shook his head. "Derek Jacoby's entire team is down. They responded to the crash. The rest of Rose's team seems to be fine, but they were off duty. They haven't come into contact with anyone who was there."

An older man with black-rimmed glasses and a lab coat approached them. His dark brown hair was touched with gray and although he moved briskly his mouth sagged as if he was exhausted.

"Dr. Michael Kane, I'd like you to meet Dr. John Smith." Pete introduced them.

The Doctor nodded at Dr. Kane. "Just the Doctor, thanks."

Dr. Kane raised his eyebrows, but did not comment. Instead he turned to Pete. "Another five have been brought into the hospital in the last twenty minutes."

"The same symptoms?"

Dr. Kane nodded. "Exactly, and all of them lived within a block of the crash." He glanced at the Doctor for permission, which the other man granted, and began to examine Rose.

"Are we dealing with some sort of biological weapon?" Pete asked.

The Doctor frowned. "The Graxa are peaceful–traders, merchants and the like. They don't have the resources to craft a biological attack that would be so sudden and severe. Not intentionally, anyway." He struggled to keep his wandering mind in check. If they discovered what was making people sick, they could stop it. He could stop it.

"Do you think whatever this is caused the crash?"

The Doctor shook his head. "Rose showed me the autopsy. They were in perfect health, well, as good of health as can be expected after crashing into a strange planet and breathing in smoke."

Pete nodded, his eyes distant. "Toxic chemicals? Fumes maybe?"

"What are the symptoms?"

"It begins with a high fever, proceeds through coughing up blood to unconsciousness, seizures, and death." Dr. Kane said quietly. "Every patient who has exhibited seizures has died a few hours later. Also," he rolled Rose onto her side gently and peeled the back of her shirt up to reveal scabby red blotches marring her pale skin. "They all have this rash."

Tiny gears turned in the Doctor's head. Neurons fired, formed patterns, pathways. He blinked.

"Of course! Thick, that's what I am. Thick thick thickety thick!"

"Doctor!" Pete snapped. "This is hardly the time or the place!"

"Right. Of course. Sorry." He took a deep breath. "It's–well, it's hard to pronounce in English and it doesn't really translate, but it is tied to the crash, and it was an accident."

"Well, what is it?" Pete's patience was wearing thin.

"It's a virus. The Graxa have this disease–it's like chicken pox to them, everyone gets it, but viruses stay alive even after people stop exhibiting symptoms, even after their immune system has fought off the virus. It's like War of the Worlds in reverse. It's alien. No one is immune to it, no one has antibodies designed to fight it off because no human being has ever encountered it before." He ruffled his hair and really wished he had his brainy specs. "Right. Get the doctors respirators and gloves. It's passed on through water droplets from coughing. And you'll want to start people on anti-virals."

"We can treat it?" Dr. Kane looked incredulous.

The Doctor shrugged. "We can try. Maybe something will help, maybe it won't, but it never hurts to try." He turned back to Pete. "You need to seal off the city and ground every plain, boat, and train. No one leaves England."

"What?" Pete blanched.

"If this sickness spreads to the rest of the world then less than a tenth of the human race will be left alive. It'll be worse than when Europeans arrived at the Americas. We're talking about whole communities, maybe whole countries dead within days." The Doctor was completely and utterly serious, almost more serious than Pete had ever seen him before.

Pete squared his shoulders. "Jake."

"Yeah boss?" the agent responded from his position by the door.

"Get the President on the videophone."

___________________________________

_The sun beat down mercilessly on her uncovered head. All around her the landscape shimmered and shifted as if she was underwater. The wind battered against her, shoving her forward and howling about her ears. Blood dripped from her cracked lips down her chin and stained her gray shirt. All she could see was sand; endless, unbroken dunes stretched to the horizon in every direction. Her legs shook as she took step after step toward…somewhere. Forward, backwards, NorthEastSouthWest she could not tell. Her lungs burned. She didn't know how long she had been walking. She couldn't remember not walking. Shadows moved across the sand around her. She shielded her eyes and looked up. Birds–vultures._

She stumbled and fell. She didn't even feel the sand scorching her exposed face and arms. She lay there, breathing hard. All she wanted to do was stay down and let the blackness overcome her. Let it pull her into its depths where nothing hurt, not her aching body nor her aching heart.

"Rose." She shut her eyes against the sound. It came again. "Rose." Somewhere, he was calling her. The voice spoke, and this time she couldn't distinguish words, but the tone was so familiar–comforting. Safe. He was calling her. She shifted, pulling her arms under her body, and then with an inhuman effort she pushed herself to her knees. She paused there for a moment, panting, and then unsteadily rose to her feet–and began to walk. Somewhere. Anywhere. He was calling her.

___________________________________

Martha stood in front of Canary Wharf, of Torchwood and stared at the revolving doors. The streets were strangely deserted and soldiers stood on every corner wearing respirator masks. Something had happened. The roads out of London were closed. Harriet Jones, the President of Great Britain, was on the telly asking people to remain calm, to stay in their homes, to report any instances of illness (followed by a list of symptoms) to the local police, who would arrange for the sick person's isolation.

She pushed through the brilliant metal door and into the building. The lobby was as empty as the streets. She blinked as she noticed that the same young man from yesterday–Alex–was sitting behind the desk wearing a respirator. He glanced up.

"Dr. Milligan." His voice was muffled. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to accept Ms. Tyler's offer of a job." Her own voice was loud against the silence.

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Ms. Tyler is…indisposed. Jake Simmonds, her second in command, is handling matters at the moment." He typed something on his computer and then handed her a plastic card similar to the one she used the day before. "This will take you to him."

"Thank you." She smiled at him. She could not tell if he smiled back.

___________________________________

Martha frowned as she stepped out of the elevator. The room was empty. The uneasiness that had hovered in the back of her mind since she first saw the soldiers with respirators grew into a hard knot in her stomach. This was wrong. This was very, very wrong. She checked the door-handle. It was unlocked. Slowly she opened the door and stuck her head through. The hallways that radiated out from the room were empty. Silence pressed down on her like a rock on her chest. She licked her lips nervously, and set off in the direction she thought she remembered.

She met no one as she wandered. Twice she came to a dead end and had to back-track, but eventually she made her way to a familiar wooden door. She knocked. The door opened, and a man's respirator-obscured face filled the gap.

"Are you Jake Simmonds?" Martha asked.

The man nodded. "I am. Who are you?"

"Dr. Martha Milligan. I'm here to accept the offer of a job."

Jake nodded. "Right, right. Come in." He opened the door wide enough for Martha to enter. "Sorry about the mess." Papers littered the desk. Three empty mugs were scattered on top of various coasters. A dark jacket lay carelessly across one of the chairs in the corner. "It's a bit of a madhouse in here." 'Madhouse' was not how Martha would have described it. 'Tomb,' on the other hand, was nicely foreboding, and captured the silence of the place. Jake jerked his head up and studied her. "Christ. You were here yesterday, talking to Rose."

"Yes," Martha affirmed. "That's when she offered me the job."

He led her back outside and Martha was confused when they ended up at the entrance. "Go down to floor three and speak with Dr. Michael Kane." Jake ordered. "You'll need to be dosed."

"Dosed? With what?"

He shook his head. "Talk to the doctor."

___________________________________

_She recognized this world. After so many trips, so many universes, they started to run together. Bits and pieces dribbled down the sides of her brain and coalesced into impossibilities and strange memories: a face from this world, a building from that, a scar from another. But this world stayed fresh. It was a world that never had the Doctor. It was a wasteland._

She walked through the bombed-out buildings, crumbling monuments to a civilization that was lost–destroyed and forgotten among the rubble. Whispers reached out to her from the shadows, voices of things that used to be human. They watched her with unblinking eyes–bright spots amid the darkness. The gun hung on its strap over her shoulder. She longed to let it fall and leave the heavy weapon behind her, but she didn't dare. It was her only defense. She was tired, too tired to fight. She needed sleep but it wasn't safe. Not with those things around her.

She heard him calling her in her dreams. She saw his face–his brown hair still despite the fierce breeze, his sharp nose and the side-burns he was so proud of, his dark eyes bright with unshed tears. She saw him standing on that beach a million million miles away. "I'm still just an image. No touch." Over and over and over again. "Rose Tyler…" She saw him in her dreams, and that's what kept her walking, moving, trying. The universe needed the Doctor. She could see it clearly, standing in the remains of a ruined city on a ruined planet in a dead solar system.

Lightening flashed. Thunder cracked and boomed above her. The sky opened and rain poured down.

___________________________________

Martha was unprepared for the chaos that waited for her outside the elevator doors. Row after row of hospital-style beds filled the large room and all of them were occupied. A harried looking nurse was moving from bed to bed checking on each patient. Martha realized with a start that she was determining of they were still alive. Even worse–most of them weren't. They all wore white surgical masks, some of which were stained red with blood. She looked around the room, bewildered, until she saw a familiar figure standing off to one side. Dr. John Smith was talking to an older man in a dark suit, who was wearing a respirator. Dr. Smith was wearing a surgical mask, and he looked like a man who hadn't slept in days. His dark blue dress-shirt was untucked and worn over pajama bottoms that were slightly too short. Although he was wearing shoes, he had apparently forgotten socks.

"Excuse me," Martha ventured. The two men turned to face her.

"Martha, Martha Jones!" the Doctor exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Jake Simmonds sent me to talk to Dr. Kane about getting 'dosed?'" she replied. The Doctor sobered.

"Second door on your left." He gestured to the hallway behind her. "He was catching a bit of a break the last time I saw him." Martha turned to go.

"Go home, Doctor." She heard the dark-suited man say as she walked away. "Get some rest. You need it."

"So do you," the Doctor retorted. "You were here long before I was."

"Comes with the job," the other man replied.

___________________________________

Doctor Kane was pleased to see Martha. He handed her a paper cup with two pills and another that was half-full of water. Martha studied them.

"What's this for, then?" she asked, still eying the pills.

Doctor Kane sighed. "I can't tell you."

"I've been exposed to whatever it is! I've got rights!" she snapped at him.

He held up his hands. "I can't tell you because I don't know. We're not even sure that this will work, but it's the only thing we can do."

"What do you mean you don't know?" She was still suspicious.

"It's a virus, but it's…alien."

"As in foreign?"

He shook his head. "As in outer-space."

"You're kidding me!" Her eyes widened in disbelief as he was silent. "You're not."

"I am completely serious." He sat down at the table heavily. "We were unprepared for an event of this magnitude. We have three doctors, four nurses, and four floors of patients. And they're pouring in to other hospitals. The President and the police are doing what they can to keep people at home and minimize the spread of the disease, but I'm afraid that it's all ready too late." He paused and looked down. "London is dying."

Martha swallowed the pills and threw the cups away. She stood in front of him and crossed her arms. "I'm a doctor. Tell me what to do."

He blinked. "What?"

"I want to help. Tell me what to do."

___________________________________

_The world exploded around her._

"Get down!" Someone tackled her and threw her to the ground. The mud was cold against her exposed skin and seeped through her clothes. Rose coughed and spit, trying to get the flavor of wet earth out of her mouth. She was unsuccessful. She raised her head a fraction, trying to get her bearings. It was night and the darkness was broken by flashes of light as machine guns fired and bombs detonated seemingly everywhere at once.

"Stay down!" the person next to her shouted. She barely heard him over the cacophony of destruction. It was a terrible symphony–an orchestra of death. It hummed in her bones and for a moment she thought she was going mad, because it was beautiful and horrible and exactly how she felt. She wanted to throw her head back and laugh until she cried. She wanted to howl to this world that the Bad Wolf was here. How did it happen that she always ended up in a struggle? Where was the world of peace and laughter and fluffy bunnies? But no, she was Rose Tyler, Torchwood Agent, Defender of the Earth, soldier. She remembered what he said so long ago, about the quiet life. Sometimes she thought she wanted it too, but trouble always found her.

She reached to her shoulder and slid the gun off as the sounds of gunfire faded. Time to go to work.

___________________________________

The Doctor sat on the bed–Rose's bed, and ran his hand lightly over the drops of dried blood spattered on her pillow. They were stark red against the white cloth. He hadn't wanted to leave her at Torchwood, but Pete threatened to have Jake throw him out, and the Doctor knew that Rose's father meant what he said.

He could feel the sickness coming on. He shivered as goose pimples rose on his arms. His mouth felt dry and his head was pounding. Stupid partially human body. If he had his TARDIS–he forced himself to stop. Moaning about what he didn't have wouldn't fix anything, wouldn't help Rose or any of the hundreds of other people who were sick. It was an accident, an unfortunate happenstance. The universe was not kind.

Proper clothes would help. He needed the comfort his suits gave, the authority his cloth armor conveyed. He was the Doctor. He could fix this. The words seemed silly even to him, and he realized that he didn't know where to begin. He was helpless, stranded here on this tiny, petty planet, stuck in the timeline and watching the woman he loved fight for her life. She shouldn't be ill, well, maybe a cold–something more like what he was experiencing. She traveled in the TARDIS; her immune system was far stronger than that of an ordinary human being.

It was the stress, he realized as he zipped his pants with fingers that trembled–from emotion or from fever he couldn't tell. It had to be the stress of constantly fighting, of spending six long years searching for him. Three years traveling the Void would take a toll on anyone, but Rose had pushed herself to the extreme to find him. Guilt settled over him. It was his fault. She was dying, and it was his fault.

No. He could fix this. He would fix this. He had to. He had nothing else left.


	5. Damned if you Do

-13 September, 3:00pm-

Martha Milligan was not a superstitious person. Unlike her sister Letitia–Tish for short, who checked her horoscope religiously, Martha had never been able to put her faith in the unknown. She needed something real, something concrete to which she could attach her beliefs. She needed something that could be proven, that left evidence of its existence. As she stood in Torchwood Tower, surrounded by the sick and the dying, she felt as if her existence had shifted drastically. She thought she understood the world–the laws of science, the guidance of reason and the fundamental possibility for good that existed in every person. As she looked around the room she realized how little she actually knew. Aliens. Alien illnesses. The universe was so much larger than she previously believed possible. Larger and more dangerous.

She pushed the gnawing thoughts out of her mind and brought her focus back to the patient in front of her. The worst part of this blasted sickness was the little they could do. Doctor Kane had isolated one anti-viral that was having more success than the others–it was still almost no success, but it was a start. Unfortunately most of the patients died before the medicine had a chance to help them. At least half expired within twenty-four hours of displaying symptoms. The bodies were piling up. Not literally, the government collected them before that was possible, but how many people had died in the Torchwood facility alone? How many across the city? The country? The world?

She shuddered. If this–whatever it was, escaped the confines of England it would ravish the population. They would not allow that to happen. The man in the dark suit, the one who was talking with Dr. Smith when she arrived the day before, had said as much. She believed him. He dressed like a businessman but he spoke like a soldier. There was something hard about him–something sharp and implacable. At the same time he was strangely familiar, like Rose had been before Martha connected the dots. Unlike Rose he made her nervous, but thankfully he seemed to be occupied in another part of the building, so she rarely saw him.

She did, however, see quite a lot of Dr. John Smith. He had returned shortly after the man in the dark suit sent him away despite the threats that had accompanied his departure. He was fully dressed this time, but he still looked as though he hadn't slept. He spoke to Martha occasionally, but mostly he sat next to Rose Tyler's bed and stared off into space.

Wearily, Martha began her rounds of the room again. As she drew closer to the Doctor she realized he was talking to someone. She paused, unsure if his words were directed at her, but he was looking at Rose.

"You'd listen to me talk for hours, remember? Fixing the TARDIS, wandering around on planets, staring up at the stars–I would point out a fleck of light and spin a fantastical tale." He smiled gently. "You liked the true ones best, you said. The made-up ones were good, but for some reason the true stories would reach out and touch you." He sighed and rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand. "You'll like this story, Rose, about a daft old man and his flying machine, and the girl who saved his life." He paused, thoughtful. "When you get right down to it, it's always about a girl. Well, maybe not for Jack, but you get the idea." Martha didn't understand half of what he was talking about, but she was intrigued. He spoke matter-of-factly, as if other planets and strange flying machines were ordinary. She blinked. Of course, in his world who's to say they weren't?

"There was this girl, you see," he began again. "And everyone thought she was perfectly ordinary. She worked at an ordinary shop, lived in an ordinary flat, and loved an ordinary boy, until an old, old man appeared and blew up that ordinary shop. He found her wandering around in the basement, about to be killed by shop-window dummies. He took her hand, and he said 'run.' And she did. She ran outside the shop and he told her to forget him, but she wouldn't. She kept digging, kept trying to find him until he found her again, quite by accident." He chuckled. "Remember Clive? Poor sod–he had that website with all my faces plastered on the internet. Right inconvenience that was. And then Mickey went and kept it going after the dummies got 'im! Anyway, back to the story. That ordinary girl saved his life, and to say 'thanks,' he took her with him when he left in his beautiful flying machine. Because all those people rushing about, filling their lives with work and sleep and chips couldn't see the strength and courage that radiated from her. He could, that daft old man. She burned in his vision and he was blinded by the light of her. He showed her the universe, and she showed him how to live–how to feel again. He was alone for so long–traveling through time and space and saving the world because he had nothing else left–a clockwork soldier. An empty man." He was silent for a while, lost in thought.

"So, when they ended up trapped by his oldest and deadliest enemy, the things that he had sacrificed his people and his planet to destroy, it seemed only right to send her home. He knew she would argue, that she would refuse to go, so he didn't give her the chance. He tricked her into his flying machine and he made it take her home, where she would be safe. He knew that he would die, but he didn't mind. He had seen a lot of this universe, that man. He'd seen and done terrible things, and maybe it was time for him to go. As long as she was all right, he could die content." The Doctor laughed. "He should have known better. He loved this girl from Earth for her spirit–her persistence and her courage and her compassion, and she loved him because she could see the good that he could not. Instead of accepting her fate, instead of living out her life while years in the future he died, she opened up his flying machine and took all the power of the universe into herself. The raw energy of space and time poured through her brain. And she came back. She took that power and she turned on his enemies–the last remnants of the Time War, the deadliest and most terrible war in the history of everything. She ended it to save the wandering soldier she loved. But there was a problem." His voice was rough and he paused to clear his throat. "The human body is far too fragile to safely contain the Vortex and he could see it bleeding through her skin, already beginning to burn her. He had two options: he could let her die, let her sacrifice her life for his, or he could save her. It would mean dying, in a fashion, but he could live with a new face as long as she was with him. So he kissed her–that daft old man, and took the power away from her. He channeled it back into his machine, but it was too late. He could feel himself changing, and he smiled, because she was safe. Rose Tyler, the girl who came back."

Martha began to move away. She was confused and interested, but embarrassed, as if she was intruding on something private, something sacred.

"I think it's a good story." The Doctor remarked again. "What do you think, Martha Jones?" he asked and turned to face her.

"I'm sorry," she stuttered. "I didn't mean to snoop or anything."

He waved her apology away with an amused expression on his face. "Never mind that. What do you think of the story?"

"Bit fantastic, isn't it? Time travel, that kind of space travel."

"You're standing in a building surrounded by people who specialize in dealing with aliens, after an alien ship crashed in the middle of London, and that story's fantastic?" He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Remind me not to tell you how it ends."

She looked confused. "I thought that was the ending."

He shook his head. "Oh, not by a long shot."

She rolled her eyes. "You don't know the meaning of 'impossible,' do you, Dr. Smith?"

"Now there you're wrong." The mocking smile was back, but it didn't seem to be directed at Martha. The Doctor stared at the wall as if he was remembering. "I know the meaning of 'impossible' all too well." He gestured at Rose. "She's the one who doesn't."

___________________________________

_The icy metal of the handcuffs cut into her wrists. She sat silently in the chair, her arms bound behind her back. Her shoulders ached and she wished that they would let her go or just kill her all ready._

"You were discovered breaking into a secure UNIT facility." A short man with a neatly-trimmed beard tossed a file folder on the shiny metal table in front of her. "You will identify yourself and your employers."

They thought she was a spy. She almost laughed. "I want to speak to the Brigadier," she said, smothering the impulse to tell them exactly where she came from.

The man raised an eyebrow. "You are in no position to make demands."

She stared straight at him. He looked away like she knew he would. There was something about her direct gaze that made people nervous. Perhaps it was a bit of the Bad Wolf shining through, or the Void, or the fact that she really didn't care what they did to her.

"Go to the Brigadier, and tell him that the Doctor needs his help."

Hours passed, or maybe minutes. Rose couldn't tell. She dozed a bit, still bound to the chair, and dreamed. She realized that things were slipping away from her, little things, tiny details about the man she loved. How he took his tea, how his hand felt in hers, the sound of his voice. That last one hurt the most, because she loved his voice–the timbre, the excitement, the way it fell out from between his lips in a mad jumble of beautiful and occasionally unintelligible words. The 'click' of hard boot-heels on cement woke her. No, it was multiple 'clicks.' She opened her eyes. The man from before was back, and he had brought another with him. The second man was tall, with hair and a mustache that had been black at one time, but was now salt-and-pepper gray. He held himself stiffly erect, but Rose could see the intelligence in his eyes, and the curiosity. He pulled out the other chair from the cold metal table and sat down opposite her.

"What is your name?" His voice was brusque, but not harsh.

She shook her head. "Can't tell you. Too risky. One wrong word and the whole of causality will go to hell."

He frowned. "Where are you from?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she replied.

"Try me."

She leaned as far forward as the handcuffs would allow. "I'm from another universe, a parallel universe. Just like this one, almost identical actually, but it's not the right one. Neither of them. None of the ones I've seen are."

The Brigadier looked at her steadily.

She sighed. "Look, I really don't have time for this. Your goons took my stuff. In the right inside pocket of my jacket there was a pair of glasses. Get them, and look at me."

The first man rummaged around in her coat and pulled out the 3D glasses she had put in her pocket the last time she was with the Doctor. The Brigadier raised an eyebrow.

"Just do it," she said wearily. "If you believe I'm a lunatic after that then fine. Whatever. Can't say I haven't thought it myself."

He raised them to his eyes. He didn't gasp, but Rose saw his hands tighten on the glasses' frame. She knew what he saw: swirls of black particles moving around her, outlining and obscuring her. He pulled the glasses off and looked at her with piercing intensity.

"Who are you?" he asked again. "What are you?"

She cracked a tired smile. "Just a traveler, passing through."

___________________________________

-14 September, 2:30pm-

Jacqueline Andrea Suzette Tyler was crying. Pete held her and the Doctor was startled to note that tears were dripping down his face as well. His shoulders slumped and for the first time since the chaos began the Doctor realized how tired he looked–how old.

"What's wrong?" he asked Pete quietly.

"It's Tony." His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "He's taken sick."

The Doctor's stomach plummeted. He hadn't thought–hadn't even considered, that Rose's little brother could die. But he and Rose both had been around the boy, and they were infected. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "So sorry."

___________________________________

_She rubbed her wrists, wincing. Raw welts, a reminder of her former captivity, stood out red and puffy against her pale skin. She rotated her shoulders, trying to work the soreness out of them. The ache persisted. She pulled her lips into a thin straight line and turned her focus back to the device in front of her._

"We have technicians that could help you," the Brigadier offered from behind her. She shook her head.

"You aren't supposed to have this kind of technology yet," she replied.

"And you are?" His tone conveyed his disbelief.

She snorted. "Not really. Not even supposed to be here. He said it was impossible." She frowned as she soldered a particularly tricky joint.

"And yet, here you are."

She looked up at him. "I don't believe in impossible."

___________________________________

-16 September, 6:00am-

The sick kept coming. Wave after wave–and the bodies kept leaving. Martha stood in the room, looking without seeing at the scene before her, noting mechanically the minutiae: a rumpled sheet on a momentarily empty bed, a pair of shoes tucked neatly out of the way, a book laying half-open, discarded. She hadn't slept, not well, anyway. How could she sleep when the world was ending all around her? Is this how Tom felt, standing in the middle of a refugee camp? Did he experience the same shift, from hopeful to doubting to despairing to tired, so tired.

___________________________________

_"You mentioned the Doctor." The Brigadier watched her fasten the newly repaired Jump tracker to her wrist._

"Yeah," she replied, as noncommittal as she could. "I did. Only way to get you down here, and you're the only one who could get me what I needed to fix this thing."

"What is it?"

"Helps me jump."

He was silent for a moment. "Do you know about the Doctor from this universe? Is he coming back? He always flits in and out, but we haven't had a sighting of him in years."

Rose shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said, and she was. "He's dead."

"Dead." His voice was flat.

She drew in a deep breath. "There was this war, and he stopped it. But he didn't make it out in time, not in this universe."

"And he did in yours."

She looked away. "Yeah."

The Brigadier nodded. "I hope you find him."

"Me too." She punched in a few numbers on the Jump tracker, and she was gone–back into the Void.

___________________________________

-17 September, 4:00pm-

"How is she?" Martha's voice broke through the Doctor's contemplations. He glanced up at her, and then back to Rose.

"The fever's broken."

She smiled. "That's a good thing, yeah? Most of the patients who beat the fever survive." He nodded, but he still looked serious, almost angry. "What's wrong?" she asked.

The Doctor nodded to a bed a little ways away. A small boy was hooked up to an IV. A woman who looked remarkably like Rose sat in a chair beside him, and the man in the dark suit stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the wall. "That's her brother." The Doctor's voice was soft. "And her mother, and father–well, sort-of father. Inter-universal lives are almost as complicated as time-traveler's lives."

"How is he doing?" She chose to let the comment about other universes and time travel pass.

"Not well," the Doctor replied. "He's too young, even with the medicine. He isn't strong enough to beat it, unless–"

"Unless what?"

The Doctor leaned in very close. He had a strange look on his face, an intensity that seemed to burn into her. "Do you trust me, Martha Jones?" he asked, his eyes never leaving hers.

She blinked as echoes of a previous conversation danced in her mind. _"Can I trust you, Martha Jones?"_ Rose had asked her that. "What is it with you people and ignoring the fact that I'm married!" she snapped, and held up her left hand so he could see the engagement ring and wedding band on her ring finger. "And what kind of a question is 'do you trust me?'" I barely know you; I met you less than a week ago!"

"I know." His eyes continued to bore into her. "But I need you to trust me. I need to you to believe me when I tell you certain things that–despite our surroundings–seem very strange and just a bit impossible."

"Something can't be 'a bit impossible,'" she replied. "It's possible or it's not."

"That's a matter of some debate." He leaned back. "The question stands: do you trust me?"

Martha chewed on her bottom lip as she stared at the Doctor. Every instinct she had was screaming at her, telling her this man was a nutter and possibly dangerous and definitely to be avoided, but if someone had told her a month ago that aliens were real she would have called them a nutter too. And there was something about Doctor John Smith, something that made her want to believe him. She sighed. "All right. I trust you."

He grinned. "That's the spirit! Nothing like a good, old-fashioned leap of faith! Now," his voice turned serious again. "First things first. My name isn't John Smith."

"Then what is it?"

"The Doctor."

Martha looked at him expectantly. "Doctor who?"

He frowned. "Just the Doctor."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you even have a degree?"

He looked hurt. "I have several! Some of them even from Earth, although I'm not sure they'd be valid in this universe–anyway. That's the next bit. Rose and I–and her Mum, for that matter, aren't from this universe. We weren't born on this Earth, well, I wasn't born on Earth at all-"

"Wouldn't that make you an alien?" Martha interrupted.

He nodded. "Yep!" and popped the 'p.'

"You're an alien." She didn't believe him.

"Mostly. Ninety-four percent, maybe, or ninety-three and a half which is just as good as ninety-four percent."

She shook her head. "You're barking."

"Martha." He leaned in again. "I'm serious, and I'm not mad. Well, maybe a little mad, but that's beside the point. There are millions of parallel universes out there. Rose and Jackie and I traveled to this universe. I was a time traveler and Rose traveled with me."

"How?"

"I have–had a ship. But I'm making a new one."

"Why are you telling me all this?" she asked.

He took a deep breath. "I can fix this. I can come up with a cure–I think."

"Well then do it!" She almost shouted. "How long have you known about it? Why haven't you done it yet?"

"I wasn't sure if I should," he responded. He ran his hand through his hair and began to pace in a tight circle. "It's too early!" he exclaimed. "My body hasn't adapted to this universe yet–if I could only see!" He put all of his frustration into the last word. "The timelines don't feel fixed, but I can't see them!"

"Now you've lost me." Martha folded her arms across her chest. "What are timelines? What are you on about?"

"I'm a Time Lord, Martha," he explained. "I can see Time, I can feel it: all the possibilities, moments that are in flux and moments that have to happen. But not yet, not in this universe. My body hasn't acclimated to my surroundings yet."

"How long would that take?" she asked quietly.

He stared at the ceiling, calculating rapidly in his head. "Three weeks, give or take a day."

"In three weeks Rose's brother will be dead, along with hundreds of people."

He nodded. "You see my problem. If I act now, I'm flying blind."

"What makes him so special? We've had loads of children come in and you never said anything about them!"

The Doctor studied Rose's sleeping face. "In our original universe, Pete Tyler died when Rose was six months old. It was just her and her Mum growing up. She dropped out of school, never took her A-levels so she could help pay Rent. They had a hard life, but they made the best of it. And now they finally have a chance to be happy–Jackie has Pete, and a little boy, and this happens. Worse–I caused it. Rose and I went into the space ship after it crashed. We weren't supposed to be there. We were supposed to be shopping, but we went ahead and got infected and spread that to Tony." A muscle in his jaw twitched. "After all the things this family has gone through for the sake of the universe–no," he corrected himself. "For my sake. They deserve to be happy."

"He could get better," Martha supplied.

The Doctor laughed. It was hollow, joyless. "If there's one thing I have learned in my very long life, Martha, it is that the universe is not kind."

She was silent for a moment. "Like I was asking earlier. Why are you telling me this?"

"I need you to choose." His voice was very soft. "I'm sorry, but I need you to choose. Should I do this or not?"

She gawked at him. "What?"

"Should I act, or should I let this pass?"

Anger bubbled up inside her. "You're passing the blame on to me. Why? Why can't you decide? Why are you trying to pin your actions on me? How am I supposed to know? You're the one who claims to be able to see Time! I'm just a person!"

"A very good friend once told me that I need someone who will stop me," he said quietly.

"And that's me." Her voice was flat. "I'm supposed to stop you. Why me? Why not Rose?"

"First, because I believe that you will. And second," his voice trailed off. He took a deep breath, and continued. "When I really, truly need to be stopped, Rose won't be there. She could be sick, or injured…or dead."

His words hung between them as Martha stared at the wall. The sheer weight of the responsibility associated with her answer settled over her like cement. Sporadic cases of the sickness had popped up in the surrounding countryside. So far the police had been successful in maintaining quarantine around the victims, but it only took one slip-up and the whole country would be at risk. But if she said yes and she was wrong, what were the repercussions? What did she know about meddling with Time? She sat very still for what seemed like hours, locked in battle within her mind. Finally she closed her eyes.

"Do it," she told him.

He nodded. "Thank you."


	6. We Who Remain

-19 September, 12:00pm-

Someone was holding her hand. She could feel the weight of it through the swirling memories that troubled her uneasy sleep. It wasn't the Doctor. While his temperature was a bit warmer than his other self, it was still cooler than a human's, and his fingers were long and delicate–an artist's hands. Rose tried to open her eyes; they were heavy, as if they were steel bulkheads instead of flaps of skin. The memories clamored, plucking at her, trying to draw her back down into sleep. She shrugged them off and tried again. Cracks of light appeared, widened, and blinded her. She blinked as she tried to focus. Blurs of color swam in front of her face. Slowly they stilled and sharpened.

"Mum?" Her voice was weak and crackly.

Her mother gasped and pulled her into a tight hug. "Rose! You're awake! Pete!" Jackie called. "She's awake!"

Her father was there in a flash. He looked tired, Rose noted, but the smile that lit his face was genuine. "Welcome back," he said quietly, and hugged her a great deal more gently than her mother had a moment ago.

Rose tried to speak again but failed. She cleared her throat. "The Doctor?"

Jackie glanced at Pete, who nodded. "He's on his way," her mother replied. "He did it, Rose. He found a cure." She snorted. "And he didn't even get properly sick!"

"Just one advantage of being not-quite human, Jackie." The Doctor's voice drifted out from behind her mother. And then he was sitting on her bed and her parents withdrew, giving them as much privacy as they could get in what amounted to a hospital ward.

"Hello," she said, smiling.

"Hello." He smiled back and cupped her cheek in one of his long-fingered hands. "You gave us quite a scare." His voice was soft.

"Can't go dying yet," she attempted a joke. "Someone's gotta look after you, y'daft alien. Can't even operate a washing machine."

He dropped a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Get some rest, Rose. I'll be here."

"How long?" she murmured, on the verge of sleep all ready. Who knew talking could be so wearying?

"Forever," he whispered as her eyes drifted shut. "Forever."

___________________________________

-23 September, 3:00pm-

The Doctor sighed as he leaned back in the chair and put his feet up on the desk. His desk. His desk in his office at Torchwood. Would wonders never cease? Rose had been right, he realized, before the space ship crashed. This Torchwood wasn't the same as the one in their first universe. Unlike Yvonne Hartman, Peter Tyler would listen to him. Still–he had an office: a proper office with a desk and a book case and windows overlooking the Thames, and soon enough he'd have a proper house, or at least a proper flat. Blimey. The last time he'd had anything so...domestic for any length of time had been when the Family was pursuing him. His lips tightened into a thin line as he remembered. Then he shook his head and a smile spread across his face. He would have a proper house–with Rose. Nothing with her could ever be domestic, not really. It would be fantastic.

___________________________________

-30 September, 4:30pm-

Rose dropped her black jacket on the floor next to the loveseat and slid onto the cushions wearily. The Doctor sat next to her. He still wore his dark suit jacket and tie. He took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers, and she gave him a weak smile.

"You'd think I'd be used to funerals by now," she murmured.

He shook his head. "No one gets used to funerals, Rose. Not even me. And I've seen a lot more than you have." He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him. She leaned against his chest and closed her eyes. Gently he stroked her hair and kissed her lightly on the top of her head. She sighed.

"They were good people."

"I know." He smiled. "You'd only work with the best."

"Learned it from you," she replied with a smile, her eyes still closed. It was strange, listening to the sound of his single heart beating, but soothing. They sat for a moment, drawing comfort from each other, until someone knocked on the door.

Jackie opened the door to Rose's rooms and stuck her head inside. "Ten minute warning, you two. The rest will be here soon."

"We're coming, Mum," Rose called back to her. She nodded and closed the door. Rose sighed and straightened. "We'd best get out there."

"We've got ten minutes before they coming looking for us," the Doctor pointed out.

Rose arched an eyebrow. "What were you thinking?"

He slid a hand behind her head, leaned in close, and kissed her. He tried to put all his reassurance and love for her into the gentle movements of his lips on hers. One of her hands crept up behind his neck while the other circled his shoulders. She copied his actions, exploring, caressing. He twined his fingers in her hair, reveling at the softness of her lips and the feel of the blonde strands between his fingers. She pressed herself close to him and he could feel the buttons of her shirt through the thin fabric of his own. He was slightly disappointed when she pulled away, but he noted with some satisfaction that she was breathing more heavily than when they started. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to counteract his mussing.

"That was nice," she said.

He nodded. "I thought so myself."

___________________________________

Martha hesitated for a moment before she knocked on the imposing double doors of the Tyler Mansion. At the funeral Rose had invited everyone back to her family's house, citing a traditional gathering after the death of a field agent. They were a tight-knit group, and they felt the loss of one of their own keenly. She understood, but she still felt like an outsider. The sickness had left her with little time to get to know the people she would be working with. Actually, she realized, she hadn't been introduced to anyone besides Rose, Jake, and the Doctor.

The woman who sat with Rose at the hospital–her mother, Martha remembered the Doctor saying, opened the door. "You must be Martha Milligan!" Jackie said, and ushered her inside. "Second door on your left, everyone else is here."

Martha did as she was told, and opened the door on a room that was bustling, if subdued. Rose and the Doctor were talking with a small Asian woman and a tall man with blue eyes and brown hair. Jake was giving Rose's younger brother a ride on his shoulders, and a tall, slender woman with brown eyes and brown hair was talking quietly with Rose's father and a short stocky man with green eyes. A young man with short black hair and brown eyes watched the others with an unfathomable expression on his face.

"There's Martha," she heard Rose say. The other woman smiled at her as she came to greet her.

"You're looking better," Martha observed.

Rose nodded. "Thanks. First day back tomorrow."

"Me too."

"Right, introductions are in order." Rose beckoned and the others formed a half-circle around them. "This is the lovely and incredibly brilliant Toshiko Santo," she said, motioning to the Asian woman, who smiled politely. "She's our field tech."

"She's almost as smart as me," the Doctor interjected.

Rose rolled her eyes. "High praise," she assured the other woman. "Next to her is Dominic Cross," the tall man with blue eyes and brown hair. "He's moving to the other team so we can have two operating and get a day off every-so-often. You've met Jake, he's going to take over Derek's team." He nodded and waved a greeting at Martha, with Tony smiling down from his perch. "Estelle Bordeaux," the woman with brown hair and brown eyes, "and Arthur Llwellyn," the green-eyed man, "are on that team as well. And this is Ianto Jones." She motioned to the lost-looking young man. "I don't know what we would do without him, which just leaves my father: Peter Tyler."

"Call me Pete." Her father insisted, and shook Martha's hand. "Welcome aboard, Doctor Milligan."

"Martha, please," she insisted.

He nodded, and sighed. "I wish our gathering was for a happier reason." He glanced around the room as faces slipped back into the serious expressions they wore earlier. "They were good people, and it was an honor to work with them."

___________________________________

They ate supper together in the large dining room. Martha listened more than she talked. It was a strange place, this Torchwood Institute. Pete didn't act like any supervisor she ever had, and Jackie took the place of everyone's mother. She made sure that people had enough food and actually ate it instead of pushing it around on their plates. She scolded Tony, who seemed to know everyone at the table, and visited each of them before he would settle into his own seat and clean his plate. Rose and the Doctor sat next to Ianto Jones and seemed to be paying special attention to him.

Dominic noticed where she was looking. "Lisa Hallet, his fiancée, was one of the agents who died," he said quietly.

"Oh." She thought about Tom, so far away in Africa. If he died she would be heart broken. "I'm sorry. That's terrible."

"Yeah." They were quiet for a moment. "So, how did you end up here?"

"Here?" she asked.

"You know, working for Torchwood."

Martha shrugged. "Same way as everyone else–I applied for a position. Of course, I didn't know it was Torchwood then."

"Yeah, but why did you decide to accept after you found out?" He was quite persistent.

She frowned. "I don't know. It sounded interesting."

"There's more than that," he replied.

"How do you mean?" She was starting to get a little irritated.

"Everyone comes to Torchwood for a reason," Arthur said from her other side. "My sister was killed by an alien, we call them weevils. They labeled her death an accident, but I didn't believe them, so I kept digging. Eventually my research led me here, and the offered me a job."

"I'm sixth generation Torchwood," Dominic said with obvious pride. "My older sister runs Torchwood four over in Belfast, I've got a cousin in Torchwood three in Cardiff, and my younger brother–the black sheep of the family–works for UNIT. So what about you?"

Martha shrugged. "My cousin Addy works in the Tech squad, apparently. She told me the position was open and I should apply. Ever since Lumic went mad I've wondered how much the government isn't telling us. And then those two," she nodded at the Doctor and Rose, "made me curious."

Arthur and Dominic shared a look of mutual understanding. "They're a bit odd," Arthur began.

"Driven is more like it," Dominic interrupted. "Don't get between Commander Tyler and something she wants. It will end badly for you."

"Commander?" Martha asked, confused.

"She runs the London branch of Torchwood," Arthur supplied.

"I thought her father did."

He shook his head. "Pete's the director. He deals with the government and organizing the different branches. She deals with the day-to-day details."

"Is she any good?"

Both men raised their eyebrows at her. "There's a reason she's Commander," Dominic replied. "And it has nothing to do with her family."

"You're in good hands," Arthur assured her.

___________________________________

Rose stood in front of the mirror in her rooms after the rest of the Torchwood crew left for the night. She studied herself in the glass's reflection. She looked older, but better than she had when they first arrived. The dark circles under her eyes were gone, and her face was losing some of its previous angularity. Although she was emotionally drained from the events of the past few days, she felt more alive now than she had in six long years. The Doctor walked behind her and wrapped his arms around. He rested his chin on top of her head and smiled.

"You're beautiful," he murmured.

She leaned into him. "So are you."

He bent so his mouth was next to her ear. "I love you, Rose Tyler."

She shivered at the feel of his breath on her neck. She loved how he said her name–the way his lips formed the words, like he was tasting them, like they were tangible. She turned so that she was facing him, looking into his eyes. "I love you, my Doctor," she responded, and kissed him soundly.


End file.
